


Petals

by PhoenixUnknown



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, I got an idea for a scene and wrote the scene and everything else doesn't exist, M/M, The likelihood of me posting any more to this fic is so small, The pairing is only technical, this is actually really only a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixUnknown/pseuds/PhoenixUnknown
Summary: It felt like his life was burning at both ends. Intimate, brilliant, and painfully hot.Also bloody, how could he forget the blood.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Francel de Haillenarte
Kudos: 11





	Petals

It started out almost imperceptibly, nothing more than a queer itch in the back of his throat. Such a mild irritation in his chest; it didn’t cross his mind to do anything more than consume more warm tea or water when it was possible and to snack more often. (Feed the cold, starve the flu--as his mother would always say.) 

The mornings were always the worst; dry, swollen, irritated from a night of apparent unconscious coughing. This carried on for a full weeks time, day and night spent constantly trying to clear his throat without attracting attention, or coughing as lightly and gently as he could when alone.

Francel knew he could not (should not) be surprised when his closest friend finally says something to him. It was just into the second week--the itch more prominent and distracting, it was harder to muffle himself. Lord Haurchefant too easily could tell when Francel was behaving out of the normative. The cool metal of Haurchefant’s chainmail gauntlet was momentarily as soothing as it was searing where he’d laid it flat against Francel’s back. For one blissful moment when Lord Haurchefant touches him, there is no pain-no burn or itch in his throat or chest. Such a brief look in to what could be before cold reality crashes into him. A hot wetness claws at his throat, his shoulders tremble with another cough he tries to withhold in vain. The sound itself is cloyingly thick with fluid. Tears prick at the corners of Francel’s eyes with every painful wrack that shook him where he stood. Vaguely he could hear Lord Haurchefant’s concern through the rattling of his lungs and the dizziness that cropped his vision darkly. 

Understandably so, Lord Haurchefant was mortified at so ill a sound, that precious round face contorted in such pain. Fingers turned white at the slender tips where they pressed harshly to his mouth. Lord Haurchefant futilely tries to soothe Francel with calling out to him gently, supporting his heaving frame with such comforting strength that Francel was able to rely on him and felt safe enough to lean into that firm hold.

He does eventually find an end to his painful fit of coughing, he is left breathless in its wake though. He takes simultaneously the most relieving, and the most painful gasps of air; lungs much deprived but severely ravaged. 

Lord Francel does not look up for a long time, he uncovers his mouth and presses his hand as a tightly clenched fist against his hammering heart. Francel’s mouth feels clogged with cottonbolls and cloyed with stickiness that has him swiping his tongue repeatedly over his teeth.

_ Copperish. _

“Lord Francel…’ Haurchefant finally breaks the silence, and the younger Lord wonders where he finds the strength to look up at the man. That most endearing and earnest face etched with concern and imploring for some way to assist his young friend. ‘You have been ill for quite awhile, but why did you not tell anyone that it was this severe?”

To himself, Francel thinks,  _ ‘Because even I did not know.’  _ Instead, “I can only remain ill for so long, please, worry not. I promise I am not neglecting myself.”

Lord Haurchefant beams, and Francel’s throat constricts painfully. He manages to grin back. His smile shines and Haurchefant is overcome with joy to have the light turned solely on him.

“Please, my dear friend - let me escort you back…”

The Knight fully intended to do so, the hand that went to hover at Francel’s lower back to guide him after a fashion spoke of that. Francel denies him though, his smile more sheepish than anything.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, the fit is passed and I am quite well.”

Lord Haurchefant does his best to look like a kicked pup and it elicits a laugh from Francel such that the knight’s heart soars into his throat at the sound; light and breathy. Francel pats his cheek with such affection that the Knight too, must melt into a matching smile.

He watches Francel retreat through the windows of his encampment entryway. His eyes are a heavy weight on the soft sway of his dear friend, scarf ruffled and billowing in the frigid breeze. Francel walks tall and proud, and Haurchefant drinks in that smooth gait clear through the battlements of Camp Dragonhead. One hand guides a chocobo by the flank, the other is still clutched to Francel’s chest. Haurchefant is loath to turn away, even when Francel is since past from line of sight of the guards.

Only when Francel is partway down Haldrath’s March does he pause and gaze over his shoulder at the high grey walls risen slightly above the downslope of the March -- the sight unfocused by the constant flurries of Coerthas. Only knowing he is alone does he unfurl his stiff hand from his chest and turn a weary gaze onto the bright crimson spattering that paints his palm and smeared his fingers from having held a clenched fist. He can only regard it with a numbing sense of exhaustion; looking to his ‘kweh-ing’ companion when its beak nudged his arm. Francel gently cooes to the bird to sooth it, crouching down to melt snow in his hands and scrub his palm clean and pink before dashing the stained snow in a flurry of dust with a few gentle kicks. 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, there's that.


End file.
